


i'm nineteen and i'm on fire

by stlngeucliffe



Series: just another brain on the campus [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: College AU i guess, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Ignored feelings, bed sharing, carolina hates that she finds york hot, inspired by my own follies, york is very confused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 07:52:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11077254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stlngeucliffe/pseuds/stlngeucliffe
Summary: There's a single bed. York swears he booked a double. Carolina has to come to terms with some things.





	i'm nineteen and i'm on fire

One of them left the air on. She won't point fingers (but it was York; she specifically asked him to turn up the temperature), but now she's freezing and she knows they said back-to-back but she's _cold_  and where her back touches his is warm.

The concert earlier that night still rings clear in her mind, how softly he looked at her as she danced and sang along at the top of her lungs, feeling the bass through her very core. Occasionally, she’d just stop and let the sounds of the crowd, of Ke$ha, of everything wash over her.

She rolls over, damning her own convictions to not let him get under her skin; but hadn't he already weaseled his way into her heart? "York," she whispers, and almost immediately he jolts awake.

"Wha-oh." He spins over to face her, and his eyes are warm when they meet hers. "You good?" "I'm cold," she answers, but provides nothing else as she flips to her side, and snakes his arm over her side. His body heat is searing, and she feels the chill in her skin dissipate. "Thanks," she says, and when he adjusts himself to better hold her against his chest, something gentle and calming sends her almost immediately to sleep.

 

She wakes again later, but this time her face is pressed against his chest, and she can feel his so-slow heartbeat against her forehead. He's like an octopus, limbs tangled against hers to the point where, in the dark, she can't tell whose leg is whose and where her own limbs even are. She's nice and toasty, though, and she's pretty sure his knee is between her thighs, which sets off a whole train of thought she doesn't want to indulge, but she does anyway, and she shifts her hips, which elicits some sort of noise from him.

This is bad, but it sets off alarms in her head, half of them screaming _yes_ and the others urging her to go back to sleep. He wakes slightly, and she needs to make a decision: back down or step up. "Mmmgh," he says by way of greeting, and when his lips touch her forehead, it warms her soul and gives her a final push in the direction she was leaning towards anyway. "You're so warm," she tells him, snaking one hand from where it is crushed between their chests to have her fingers dance on his collarbone.

He blinks once, twice, but retains the befuddled expression. "Thanks?" She wants to roll her eyes, because of _course_ he's being an oblivious doofus.

"Isn't it a little warm under here?" She drags her fingers down a little, wishing she could peel his shirt off and feel his muscles without the hindrance of his shirt.

"Uh," he starts, obviously confused. "Is there a right answer here?"

Carolina sighs. He's ruining her moment to shine, to practice whatever sexytalk lessons she's retained from high school. "I don't know about you, but I think it's a little," she pauses to tug at his shirt, "steamy."

"Oh." It sounds a little dry, like maybe she's accomplished in doing something to him. "Uh, what did you want to, um. Do about that."

"What do you want me to do about it?" She knows what she wants, but she's curious to see if his desires align with hers.

"You're the one who said it was hot in here."

She gives up on trying to be suave. He's not awake enough to appreciate her efforts. "I want to fuck you."

There's a beat of silence, before he lets out a long, drawn out noise of realization. "How did I miss that?" he mumbles, almost to himself, like he's mentally berating himself. "Yeah, okay, cool."

Carolina finds herself blinking this time. "Way to be enthusiastic."

"I am, I am!" He hastily answers, like she might revoke the offer. "I'm just. Trying to process. Sex?"

She smirks. "Coitus, if you'd like the technical term." This feels much less robotic and forced; banter is much easier than sexytalk.

"Please don't ever say that word ever again. I'm begging you." He's making a face like he tasted something sour. "I'm never going to be able to think of you saying anything else to me."

It'd be fun to say it again, just to get him to groan loudly and never talk to her again, but she's on a mission. "Sex it is. Or shall we call it something else? The beast with two backs?"

He snorts, barely containing laughter. "Stop, please, you might kill me."

"Wait until later to say that," she says, and she realizes she's stalling. He hasn't said anything, really, to confirm or deny. "Can I take your shirt off?"

"I have to be dreaming. Yes, of course?" He sounds incredulous. "Who would say no to having you strip them?" _A lot,_  she thinks, but doesn't dare voice the thought because it'll just devolve into him comforting her and giving her hollow words that mean nothing. This is purely physical; just her body's response to waking up tangled with another human being. It's not because it's him, she assures herself, but then again she can't imagine herself doing this with anyone else.

Instead of answering him, she busies herself into sitting up and pulling him up with her, just to pull his shirt over his head. In the dim lighting, she can only see his outline, but she's seen him bare enough, she knows there are rugged muscles defined perfectly to not be gross but not make him appear average, either. Maybe she is only doing this because it's him.

It's not like it matters, he must dream of a dozen women to bed, she's nothing, but he's grabbing her chin and pulling her into his lap the moment his shirt is off and tossed aside. He kisses her, and she remembers that, right, sex usually involves kissing and other similarly intimate things, and she has to remind herself that this means nothing. It's just to relieve any tension they have. Nothing will come from this, but then his tongue grazes her lip and whatever her brain was warning her about is gone, replaced with nothing but a craving for his mouth everywhere on her body. One of his hands is cupping her jaw, handling her like something precious, and the other is running up and down her back, over the thin t-shirt she'd worn to sleep in. Every nerve is on high alert, like a coastline during a hurricane, and all she can think is more, more, more.

"More," she breathes when they break apart, both of their chests heaving from effort. She'll worry about feelings later. Right now his mouth needs to be all over her. It really doesn't take long for him to pick up on what she needs, and his mouth is warm on her throat and makes her thighs clench enough for him to make a noise, something between a moan and a sigh. "No hickeys," she demands, voice tight because it's such a difficult command to give.

He nods eagerly, excitedly. "Anything else?" It should sound sarcastic from anyone else, but it's reverent from his mouth, like a servant to a goddess.

"Take my shirt off," and it shouldn't be hot but it is, how easily he falls under her command. He peels off her shirt, leaving her bare but for her underwear, and immediately his lips claim hers again, pulling her closer to him. She shouldn't let this warm her, she shouldn't be thinking that this is her _anything,_ because he doesn't belong to her outside of a professional setting. They're just classmates and friends. Best friends. Who apparently make out and have sex now.

She wants to mark him when they break apart, but she has to remind herself that he isn't hers, this is just temporary. It's just a release and nothing more. She hadn't noticed, really, how her hips had been rocking slowly as they'd kissed, and how warm his hands are. "Touch me," she says, trying more for a tone that's less demanding and more open-ended. Open for discussion.

"I like the orders," he answers, almost timidly, as he works his hands forward, slowly, like he isn't exactly sure how to execute the request. She guides his hand over her pubic bone, has him ease her underwear aside to gently start probing.

"I don't have to show you, do I?" She asks, completely forgetting that she doesn't know much about his history with genitalia.

"I know how to make a girl come, thank you," he snarks, but is still hesitant in his actions, until he brushes her clit and she clenches against his hand. "I just never thought it'd be you," he mumbles as he buries his face into her neck. He's efficient, with clit rubbing and penetration both, and it doesn't take long for her to lose the self-control she'd had of keeping her hips still as he worked. She's panting into his shoulder, it's been a while and she's very impressed by his fingers. Her hips roll in time with his fingers and wrist and she orgasms with a noise she's very certain she's never made during sex before. It takes a second for her to come back to the moment, and she can feel his grin against her skin.

"What're you smilin' at?" It almost slurs, she's not quite completely back together again, but he's pulled back and is grinning at her like he's just won the lottery.

"That was really great," he answers, like he hadn't just put in most of the work. "A lot of fun, too."

She wants to scoff at him. Fun? "What'll be fun is when I ride you into next year," she challenges, and she swears his eyes sparkle at the words.

"Let's do it."

She likes the enthusiasm, but, "are you sure you don't want something else first?" She feels like it's selfish for him to fingerfuck her and then she just rides him. It shouldn't matter, because it's not like there's _feelings_  here, but she does want to make sure he enjoys this just as much as she does.

"There's nothing better you could do for me," he answers simple, "that would, excuse the pun, top you topping me."

She should be more surprised, but she isn't. It explains why he is always itching to spar with her, only to get knocked flat on his ass. "If you insist," she answers as she peels off her underwear and pushes him, gently, with his back on the mattress.

"I do insist," and his voice almost cracks as he tosses his boxers aside, leaving both of them bare, the most naked they've really ever seen each other. She thinks that maybe it'll improve their trust in each other. She never thought she'd be here, about to ride him into next year. But she's straddling him, her hair having come loose earlier and cascading around her, and it feels perfect, exactly how she was sure it would happen.

She lines herself up against him slowly, and the noise he makes the second she only barely slides against him only makes her stomach flip in further arousal. "I warned you," she tells him. As she works her way down on him, she can't help but notice how he moans her name, nearly like a prayer. She makes sure to draw it out, her adjusting to him, if only to elicit more noises from him. There's a moment where they lock eyes as she bottoms out, and his expression is unreadable beyond the obvious enjoyment. It's soft, she thinks, but she can't get much beyond that as she pulls up and drops back onto him. He isn't quiet, not at all, but here it doesn't matter. She can make him moan, scream, sigh, _whatever_ because no one will ever know. Then again, this is York, and he cannot keep his mouth shut, no matter what's happening to or around him.

They adjust about halfway through, with him meet her halfway up until they're both shuddering messes that are close to climax. She bends forward to kiss him, and apparently one more thrust while she's got her tongue against his teeth is enough for him, which in turn sets off her orgasm. She settles on top of him gracefully, and he doesn't even bother to reach for her face to kiss her again, just simply kisses the top of her head and tangles his fingers through her sweaty, messy hair.

"That was amazing," he manages to say after what feels like both an eternity and seconds later.

She couldn't agree more. She especially likes the past tense, because it's just a thing of the past, lying with him after sex, like it was nothing. She should get up, but she wants to take in as much of this as possible. She doesn't want to lose it, because as much as it won't happen again, she _wants_  it to. She wishes that this was how she woke up every day, cuddled against him and his radiating heat. He kisses the top of her head again, like he can't stop, and she slowly falls asleep with his hand at her back, slowly drawing blind circles.

 

This is what being in love feels like, and she wants to hate that she’s done this, but she’s done it, so she has to live with the consequences.

**Author's Note:**

> saro is literally the worst and wouldn't fucking let me live until i finished this. there's more to come from this universe from both of us


End file.
